The Graduates
by Abel Quartz
Summary: Well, it's official - Connie is a high school graduate! A summer of possibilities stretches before her, but there are other things she has to take care of. After all, Steven's got a gift for her at the house, and how can she resist?


_(Just so everyone's clear, this is a piece of erotic fiction. While I've done my best to limit the explicit sexual acts, this story does depict intercourse between two consenting adults. If you're into that, yay. If not, don't say I didn't warn you!)_

Mascots were strange. Connie still felt awkward watching a grown man in an oversized crab costume positioned across from her biology teacher. But both of them had smiled as she shook hands with the principal, before taking her place on the stage. Third in the class wasn't bad, considering the size and the competition of a private coastal school. All ten of the seniors on stage were more or less peers, the memories of late-night study sessions fading into mere memories.

It didn't feel like only a day ago, but she had woken up with a cap and gown on her desk chair, crowned by a leatherbound certificate on paper made from local marsh reeds. It was pretentious enough to make her grimace, and genuine enough to stop her from being condescending. So much effort had been made to give the upper-tier students rewards for their work, and they all just wanted to be done with the stress. Calligraphy did little to ease their pain.

A whole summer lay before her. Fifteen scholarships had to be answered before August, but that was far ahead. Her parents had allowed her to forfeit a job in order to work on school, and there was little she needed to do with money except pay for gas. Sports had ended and even the clubs were more or less stagnant as the oppressive heat wave rolled in from the coast - well, except for the swim team, but that was a whole other chapter.

Connie slid into the parking space at The Big Donut, her stomach curling up at the thought of food. So much had been made for her graduation party, and there were enough leftovers to last the Maheswaran family until June, it seemed. But no, this was another kind of tension. It echoed through her muscles and into her fingers, tapping the lock button to make the car blink its headlights.

The beach welcomed her with a wave. They were small waves, with little wind, just a blue sky with clouds caressing the sun's rays reflecting on the endless ocean. Her sandals sunk into the dune, stopping the burning sand from etching itself into her sole. The wide folds on her pants barely blew in the wind, the dark canvas drifting around her thighs, pulled up just enough to show the beginning of definition on her calves in the breeze. Her t-shirt was plain white, tight around her shoulders, a stark contrast against the length of black hair that flew freely past her shoulder blades.

The walkway creaked underneath her feet as she ascended. The windows to Steven's house were open, but with a freshly installed screen, just like the main door. Connie hadn't seen Steven since before finals, and the only contact she got during the party was a shaky portrait of some monster on the other side of the world that took five minutes to load. The invitation hadn't been unwelcome, merely surprising, and pretty vague from a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Steven?" Connie called, walking straight in. There was no point in knocking - he knew she was home.

The warp pad shimmered. Connie took a short step back and primed herself for combat. It was an instinct now, and it took only half a second before she was prepared to attack and defend. It took even less time for her to relax as she saw that familiar outline through the veil of light.

His dad's old band shirts fit him better now than the red star shirts, this one with a stylized lightning bolt intersecting an almost illegible logo. Even so, Steven's midriff still had two or three inches of exposure, right above the belt-line of his jeans, rimmed by a white waistband underneath. The bottom of his pants were rolled up like always, but the ankles were graced with dark hair that ran all the way down to his red chintzy sandals.

Steven had grown with her, spending years at Connie's side, traveling and exploring with the Gems' warp pads, and as Connie grew, so did he in her image. The baby fat of adolescence had turned into a gentle softness in his cheeks and curves, just like his mother. Like Greg, his hair flowed down, but in thick curls of the darkest brown, tied back with a thick red elastic into a bundle that might at one point have been tame enough to call a ponytail. His crinkling smile was framed with short stubble that spread from cheek to cheek. And when they made contact, Connie swore she could still see stars in Steven's eyes.

"I'm glad you made it. Sorry about all that nonsense the other day - boy's gotta do his duty, right?"

How the years had changed his voice, from a peal of a chime to the resonance of a cathedral. Steven's chest heaved with a sigh as he approached, stretching the girth of his torso, showing off the definition that time had given to compliment his strength.

"Believe me, you didn't miss much. Mom got some champagne for us and got real giggly. It's the tamest alcohol, though. Still tastes pretty bad."

"Then why drink it?"

"Social convention."

"Yeah, how about a real reason."

Nonchalance got the best of her, and she was leaning against his chest in a giggling fit before she knew it. They devolved in these moments, from humans to children, then to kittens or pups, relying on touch and the physical contact of play to learn about each other. Steven's arms gripped her tightly as she nuzzled against his body, smelling the faint aura of blossoms that always seemed to leak from his skin itself.

Connie could feel his arms moving then, down past her shoulders, his wrists separating to trace their way to her hips. She would have opened her mouth to question him, but she felt Steven shaking, an almost undetectable trace of muscle movement flowing from his fingers to his core as her cheek pressed against him.

The squeeze - now that actually surprised her. All of Steven's fingers pressed into her flesh, the tension coming up her thighs and straight into his hands.

"I got you something," he whispered into her ear.

Of course this had been planned, with as little precision as Steven could manage for a scene like this. The Gems weren't anywhere to be seen, and the soundless house was devoid of anything that was not them. Connie felt like the space was theirs and theirs alone, as if a part of them was soaking into the woodwork. It was not home, but it was the next best thing - or perhaps something entirely new.

Connie was only an inch or so shorter than Steven now, and he had clearly been growing into the genes that Rose left behind for him. He was certainly not going to be a giant as such, although the combined height and width of his frame was imposing to strangers; there was not a single resident of Beach City, however, who was unfamiliar with the younger Mr. Universe and the kindness that followed him like a comet's tail.

Their lips found each other, it seemed, an unconscious magnetism, prophetic and fluid. Connie's hands slipped to her lover's face and caressed his cheeks as they shared a deep kiss, the gaps and the space between filled with tongue and breath. The taste of Steven's warmth was so familiar to her now. Her sharp stillness filled him up as well, muscle tracing over teeth and the motion of the mouths rolling to and fro across each other's skin. When they separated, they inhaled together, a bridge of saliva connecting their bodies' fluids.

Hands and tongues of the one were not alien residents to the private and intimate details of the other. Steven was thinking, just now, of his hands inside the front of Connie's sweatpants in the back of the bleachers during a pep rally earlier that year. Connie remembered the gentle gasps as she had pulled back on Steven, sliding skin over skin, exposing the sensitivity of his body to the midnight spring air.

And here they were. There was that tension that pressed against her body, a smooth line in Steven's jeans that betrayed the nature of his gift. It was still a bit of a surprise, yes, but it was inevitable that things should come to this. Connie couldn't remember a time since the beginning of puberty that the associated thoughts did not pass somewhere in the back of her mind. When had Steven first wanted this? When had he decided to take the first step?

Steven invited her into his arms, a graceful reprieve from gravity itself as she wrapped her legs around him and allowed those arms to hold her with the full strength of his magic. There was no logical reason for the boy to be so strong or so defined, but there was little that made sense from his human side when one took into account the gemstone embedded in his belly, the warm, pink emblem stuck in his flesh, unscathed and unflawed despite years of reckless playfulness.

So little had changed in Steven's room, with the exception of blinds that Steven pulled down with one hand, the plastic slinking and sliding against each plank and cord. The sunlight had already warmed up the house, and summer was cruelly provisional in its gift of heat. It didn't matter, not to the two of them as they collapsed back onto Steven's bed. Connie stretched on the mattress, letting her sandals clatter onto the wooden planks beneath.

Shirt-sleeves strained as Steven stripped himself, tossing the sweaty garment to the television. As he laid back on his bed, Connie rolled over to rest on the breadth of his chest, swollen muscles and a gentle layer of fat rising and falling underneath her face as she stared down towards his gem. She ran her fingers over its surface, but quickly drifted down to undo the button and fly, slender fingers dexterously separating denim from cotton. Steven had to push and kick a little bit to strip the remainder of his pants from his body. Both of them didn't know what they were laughing about, but it was a connection nonetheless as they giggled together. Shared awkwardness, perhaps, the inherent humanity of disrobing.

Looseness of clothing and looseness of form helped Connie strip more easily, slipping her t-shirt from her torso to show the muscle beneath. Steven ran his fingers over her skin, marveling at the definition of her obliques, unseen ruts of dark skin like a masterpiece in motion, living, breathing art. She was not overburdened with the weight of her breasts, the shape of the muscles at the same angle as her arms when she stretched behind her, freeing her naked torso from the confines of her clothing.

She glanced down at the man on the bed, smirking at his awestruck face.

"What're you staring at?"

"I just..." His open mouth could only smile as he shook his head, marveling and murmuring. "You are the most beautiful human being."

If Connie didn't know any better, she could swear that Steven was crying. If she was being honest, about half of her childhood memories with Steven somehow involved crying, for some reason. She couldn't place it. It didn't matter.

"No bra?" he asked.

His massive hands pressed so gently into her skin, his thumbs sinking into the softness of her chest. There had been no need today, and the need in general was minimal most of the time. Still, all there was this morning was a meal, a shower, and a two-minute drive to the beach.

Steven let his own fingers trail towards her pants' waistband, a scrunched tension framing the deep-V of her groin. Connie helped this time on the other side, and they stripped the fabric off together before letting it fall by the side of the mattress. There they were, two warriors, two friends, late teenagers in their underwear - one in his plain white briefs, the same style he had been wearing for his whole life, and the other in her blackest panties, athletically cut and framed around her muscles.

Steven's whole body was larger than her's, and when he moved his body to tower over her, Connie felt almost intimidated - well, as much as anyone could be before they saw his smile. His hands curled her underwear off, pulling it down her thighs as she lifted her legs into the air almost lazily. He always seemed to love doing the majority of the work, or at least putting in effort to make Connie feel relaxed. She let her muscles all tense and breathe before falling back into place, no longer shy in front of this man; she had no reason to be.

Connie pulled a pillow behind her head, lifting her hair above her, and Steven's head went down. The hot breath was alien to her, as was the stubble that brushed against her inner thigh. She giggled despite herself, and all that led to was Steven brushing his chin against her leg and making her laugh harder. She looked down and saw his eyes twinkle over the curves of her body, right before they closed again and his mouth opened.

As far as she knew, he had never done this before. Connie herself had never played around like that, not with another human. But he knew what felt good in general, and his lips and tongue found their way around her expertly. It was an indication of love more than pure desire, sexual energy diluted with curiosity and definitely excitement.

Saliva dribbled down to the bedspread, something to be cleaned up later. Connie didn't realize how much the tingling of his healing spit was going to affect her, and as Steven's tongue began to explore in between, the muscles in her abdomen siphoned warmth through all of her limbs, and she let out a gentle moan, the first of many, raising her legs to cross behind Steven's back as he worked.

Each finger of his left hand gripped equally onto her thigh, and his right hand trailed down to assist. Steven used his thumb to trace the crescent's outer edge, pulling gently like a masseur on the muscles connected inside. His tongue lapped from the bottom all the way up to the top, making Connie shiver in her skin. It tasted just like her, a sensation unique between them, a semblance of all the memories they had shared and all the anticipation that came with the new ones they were about to make.

When Connie looked down, she could see Steven as he drew back, licking his lips and studying the sights before his eyes. One finger, two fingers, slipped into the space where his tongue had been, and he pushed forwards against the entrance. Thick as they were, Steven's fingers encountered minimal resistance as they explored deeper than any other human had been here - gently, as always, and Connie felt them twisting organically in a manner so foreign to her body, but so much like how she knew Steven moved, how he loved her.

His face was red and his breathing heavy, and in the seconds between she could feel Steven's left hand trembling against her body. Twisting around the nerves, his fingers sent a sudden shock through her nerves. Connie tensed at the pressured pleasure, inhaling sharply through her teeth. Steven froze, his eyes widening as he stared up at her.

"Connie? Are you okay? Should I stop?"

His plaintive tone could've made her laugh if the situation wasn't so wildly different than their usual intimate moments. It really was the first time, their first time, warmer than a quick flick of the wrist through his fly, or a massage through her underwear, true nudity. They had all the freedom of nudity with all the attention of lovers' locks.

"Come here," she said, extending a hand towards his face.

Steven slipped out cautiously - once again making her tremble - and pushed against the mattress until his cheek burned against Connie's palm. Crawling towards her face, the young man's body dragged against her own, sweat and skin and hair stroking like where the river meets the bay, swirling with water and salt.

"Take them off."

It was an order that he followed readily, almost tearing his underwear from his body, balancing on one hand and grunting as he disrobed to completion. He kicked them off and let them fall, in a position reminiscent of a push-up above Connie.

With one grip on Steven's body and a simple twist, she 'encouraged' him onto his back, the entire bed shaking as he rolled and fell with his back to the mattress. Both of them looked down the length of his body, then back at each other with childlike grins.

Each of them knew it was a little ridiculous, but they were here, still, and they were both aroused in their own way - one more obvious than another. Connie reached her hand down to press and rub into Steven's belly. Her fingers slid across the thin, dark hairs that traced down to his gem. They curled around, but never really touched the warm, pink stone embedded in his flesh. No navel, but there was still a trail which led to the shelf of flesh where the muscles of Steven's abdomen came to his groin. Now here the hairs almost matched the curls on his head, but they were shorter, felt bristlier than when Connie ran her fingers through his scalp.

She didn't halt her fingers there, and Steven's face looked almost more consternated than hers as she got a grip. His teeth clenched, eyes closed, cheeks red as she kissed them.

"So sensitive," Connie teased.

Not that that was a bad thing. Steven couldn't even respond as she began to move, leaning against his body as she stroked, pushing past the resistance of the crown, skin and skin sliding against one another. Connie buried her face into the neck of her whimpering lover, feeling the drippings slip down her knuckles. Her grip was tight enough, but her technique was loose, just like sparring practice, moves she knew by heart but that still felt fresh in motion. The smell of skin and sweat came together then, and it came together now.

"C-Connie!"

Poor boy. He so desperately wanted her to look up and see the pained tension in his face. His own smile brightened like the sunrise over the horizon as she sat up. She let go and ran her hand back up his chest as he pushed himself up as well to sit against the wall. With him against the wall, Connie sat on his lap, the tension swollen between them as Connie took a moment to pull her hair back, letting her curls fall. Steven was still staring at her in admiration when she opened her eyes.

Wait, no – one erratic motion, a glimpse to the side. Upon the shelf next to them were a small bottle and a length of plastic packaging. He reached over, but Connie stayed his hand as his fingers touched the condoms. He froze as she reached straight for the bottle and pushed it towards his fingers.

"But…" Steven was so adorable when he was flustered. "But, Connie, what about – shouldn't we, just in case? I don't want anything to happen to you!"

She pressed the bottle into his hand.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Steven. Nothing that I can't take care of by myself."

Connie moved her hands to either side of Steven's face.

"Right now, I want to feel you," she whispered. "All of you."

Steven's eyes widened. The only sound in that moment was the pop of the bottle in his hand.

There, that was what they needed to hear. Connie leaned back, her spine arched and her legs tensed up as she gave Steven just enough room to work. The bottle tipped over right between them, and Steven squeezed gently, hissing through his teeth when the coldness hit his skin. It was a sensation nobody could get used to, not easily.

Connie's hands followed soon after, spreading it over, trying not to ease Steven too quickly to the point of no return. She could almost feel the heat from his skin as he concentrated, the muscles underneath his chub rising and falling, veins standing out on his arms as the strength within sent a song seething through his heart. The things this man could do were almost infinite; it was so hard to remember that sometimes.

A moment's pause – but neither of them could hold back. Connie moved like a willow, a tree moving in the wind, a core so strong and so flexible. There was no resistance from either body nor their moving parts. The only sound was of their breathing together as her hips lowered, and her body received as Steven gave.

Steven's fingers tightened on her hips and, to Connie's pleasant surprise, pulled her down and close onto him. It wasn't a tight fit, not like she had expected, but it was – oh, goodness, it was just like Steven – plump, stocky, and stronger than anyone could have possibly understood at first glance.

Each inch pushed deeper until they were together completely. Connie's serenity cracked as soon as he was inside, completely inside. A finger or two, that was nothing compared to Steven right now. She didn't even have to open her eyes to feel his concern. Always concerned, always worried about hurting her. But when her hips started to rock, the rosy haze came over him, and she felt his hands move with her, and then, then he took control.

Her muscles moved with the rhythm, but Steven shifted his legs, pushing against her body while pulling down with the gyrations. They rocked together smoothly, oil and sweat sliding down and matting the black curls at the base. Steven leaned his face forwards to kiss Connie's collarbone, and she hugged him, her nose buried in his locks, forcing his face up to her neck. First a kiss, then a nibble, tasting the flavor of her skin against his tongue – his mouth was gentle here, but the rest of his body was as relentless as the ocean pounding against the rocks.

With her arms around him, he rose, suddenly enough to make Connie cry out at the unexpected force inside of her. It wasn't effortless or painless, but it was cathartic and surprising, almost as much as when he lifted her up. He held her body against his chest, cupping his partner's taut rear with one hand, supporting her back with the other. Shakily, Steven used the wall and the bed to force himself upright, pushing until he was standing on his mattress.

Connie held on with arms and legs alike, clinging to Steven as he turned to face the wall. All the while, the pressure inside her was bearable, but it took its toll as gravity worked in their favor to push him as deep as he could go – which was just as deep as he needed to be. His 'serious' face was on now, and this was probably the one time in her life where Connie could actually take it seriously. Her mouth hung open and her body loosened all the nerve endings and the stimulants that she didn't even know had been holding back. Better than fingers, better than toys, nothing could be better than Steven.

Against the wall, his body pushed and pulled and rolled with Connie, together but distinct, in rhythm with one another just like a dance. This was no dance, but the motions were musical and the song came in notes of grunts and murmurs. Each grip had a response, each end a beginning, each cycle painting more brushstrokes in a swirl of pleasure inside their bodies. Quarter-notes of sweat dripped from them and formed measures sliding down their thighs.

Steven backed away from the wall and struggled, his muscles riveting and bulging under his skin like granite under a mountain's loam. They were nowhere as defined as Connie's; she was built like a statue, sculpted from mahogany and chiseled into a beautiful woman in his arms. Now, his power was restrained: outer calm, inner strength. Under the softness of his form, the magical vigor infused with what Connie could only call his superhuman. The man who was both outside and inside of her could move mountains with the arms that held her weight.

She did not expect him to pull back, back until he slipped out and made her squeal with the sensation. Everything tingled, everything dripped. Their fluids slid down the plaster together, indistinguishable from one another. Steven seemed surprised by his own stamina, his face flushed with energy and passion. He collapsed back onto the bed, bending until Connie was once again in his arms.

Now, for what felt like the first time in a long time, he was directing the dance, leading her on her way back down to the sheets.

"Here we go," he murmured, turning Connie onto her back.

This was going somewhere interesting, and she knew just what he had in mind. She grabbed a pillow and held it close, stretching out on the mattress. She was taller than she had been when they shared a bed before as kids, back when love was on the forefront of their minds and these kinds of exercises were not even present. Now, her developing muscles were finished and toned, athletic, practiced for the sake of not only herself but of the universe.

Connie squirmed as Steven poured more from the bottle down between her thighs, pushing and pressing with impatient fingers. It was warmer from the minutes it had spent in the sun, but it was nothing less uncomfortable. Still, it made things easier when he lay on top of her, and his arms held Connie tightly as he moved forwards once again.

Steven was in control. His legs spread out and his arms gripped like vices as he began to thrust once more. It was faster now, labored like his breath. Connie's gasps echoed through the afternoon, matched only with Steven's own. Flesh on flesh came together in uncountable beats as he moved his hips.

Connie's apex had been turning her on her head since Steven had started, but now the true power behind him was reaching the point where she knew she was burning to cinders and rising once more. The phoenix renaissance rose through from temple to fingertip. It lingered and scorched in concentric pleasure each time that Steven hit the pinnacle.

Telling when he was close was just as easy as she thought, and the rhythm became more erratic, faster and faster until she was drowning in his motion and scent. In the last embers of her climax, Steven held her close and practically whimpered in her ear, his gem sending pink light through the gaps in their bodies and against the wall. He shuddered and pushed painfully against her with his thighs – still never enough to truly harm her, but enough so that she felt each inch of his body in the most intense tension that she had felt, more than sword-fighting, almost as much as fusion, deep in Connie's most private recesses. He didn't relax, but he did slow after, rolling his hips as he pumped every bit of himself inside.

Then there was silence that was not silence. Even their sweat was electric as it rolled off of them, off of his shoulders and off of her spine. Their breaths passed between their lungs and into each other's ears. Blood pumped through their bodies and into their ears, drowning out the moment until they could once again hear the waves.

When Steven moved his hips back once again, the plug released and everything came back out onto the sheets. There was more than he had thought, more than both of them had ever been used to.

Connie anticipated the words that she knew were coming up from his heart.

"Don't. Don't be sorry." She turned to face him. "It's a mess and I love it, Steven. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Love you more."

"No, I love YOU more, and I have the volume to prove it."

"Steven, that is…SO gross."

They paused. Connie snorted and Steven broke out in a giggling fit before he fell back on the bed next to her. She practically jumped onto his chest, kissing him and riding the bumps of his laughter that made a drumbeat out of the breadth of his chest.

"I guess we're both graduates now," Steven sighed.

Both of them had to look down at the mess. Dark stains on the comforter formed shapes like storm clouds, but it was nothing that they couldn't wash out. The smell of sweat, oil, and their various drippings, filled their nostrils, and even in the afterglow they still smelled good to each of them. Good, relatively, of course – pleasurable, pleasant, visceral.

Connie didn't have to say how much she loved him in this second. Steven was radiating equally his love for her, from his heartbeat to his curling toes. But that wasn't even the best part.

Steven knew it too, and he had been thinking about it for years, for as long as he could form those romantic thoughts. A bigger house, a bigger life, a bigger future – more moments like this. They wanted it so badly, needed it like they needed each other. Steven looked out the window at the distant Beach City township, longing for more time to be together, more time to be like this and have zero worries about a life without each other. He didn't ask it, but he knew he was going to. Someday. Perhaps without a ring; anything with a gemstone seemed awkward to say the least, and the money would be better spent on a house.

So many worries clouded his thoughts, but he could still feel her. Connie. Against his chest, against his body, she had no worries, nothing but this moment. How long had it been since she had been without that? Did she know how much she needed this?

Her sighs did not suggest sleep, but they asked for rest. He encouraged it, and held her close, remembering that time she had fallen asleep on his chest as a young girl, and him as a young boy, and both of them equally in love. The sun traced bands over his skin like a tiger as he stroked his hands over Connie's naked body. They could grow up, but he would never lose this. As Connie was living and in his arms, some part of him would always be human.


End file.
